Page 28 of Threads That Bind Us
“I’ll be fine too,” she murmurs.
We sit in silence for a bit, the quiet only interrupted by the sound of footsteps occasionally passing by. I have no baseline for how busy a pediatric radiation therapy unit usually is, but it seems fairly empty today. A blessing.
After a bit, Gwen cracks her neck and sits forward, running her fingernails through her scalp and shaking out her hair.
“She’s right, though,” she finally says, turning toward me in her seat and crossing her legs so her whole body is jammed into the little chair. That cannot be conformable. “Everything I’ve researched says the first few weeks are pretty easy with the side effects, but eventually she’ll start feeling terrible. Ana needs vegetables, and more calories, but we’re supposed to avoidantioxidants? And she’ll be dehydrated, so I bought like five cases of that stuff you put in water to boost the hydration? I don't even know if that works.”
Gwen’s babbling, but she’s also staring at me like she’s desperate for validation that she’s doing this right. And she is, because she’d do anything for Ana, and that’s really all that matters.
I reach around her, grab the backpack I brought off Ana’s chair, and unzip it for Gwen. She peers into it tentatively.
“I got a few recommendations. Lotions and body washes for when her skin gets irritated. I was also going to suggest we find somewhere new to get dinner after each appointment, so she’s got a reason to look forward to meals. If I can’t be there, Zane will take you, or have it ready to go when her session is done.” She picks through the chips and sweets, staring into the backpack. “We’ll figure it out.”
I might be pushing it. Gwen has figured it out on her own for so long, and accepting financial support doesn’t necessarily mean she’s ready to accept emotional support, too. But it feels important to me.
I saw the way my parents were. They didn’t love each other when they got married—they barely knew each other. But they have spent every day supporting and caring for one another, and found the most steadfast love I’ve ever seen along the way. And even though that won’t be the result for us, I still want her to know that she can rely on me.
She swallows hard before looking back up at me. Her expression is guarded, but she nods once, zipping the backpack up and placing it at her feet next to her bag. Her movements are careful, like she’s thinking too hard about them, and I wish I could say something to convince her to trust me.
She eyes the envelope tucked under my arm, and I hold it out to her.
“Our contract,” I say as she turns it over in her hands. “You don’t have to review it now, but it proposes both of our roles and responsibilities in this partnership, as well as a tentative timeline for major milestones. I’ve flagged some areas for your feedback, but please leave commentary wherever you see fit.”
She pulls the small packet out, neatly stapled and littered with yellow flags.
“Most romantic proposal I’ve ever seen,” she murmurs. Heat crawls up the back of my neck and I try to grab the file back from her, but she turns away from me. “I’m just teasing.”
“I know it’s a little clinical,” I admit, my knee bouncing. “I just thought that would make things easier.”
Our eyes meet, and the flush that crawls over her skin has my hands itching to trace its path. This is what I meant byeasier. If the contract is detached and analytical, it won’t give her any reason to blush like that. Which means I won’t imagine what the rest of her body looks like flushed, under wildly different circumstances.
“Easier, yeah,” she mutters to herself, digging a pen out of her bag. “Well, I’ve got nothing else to do right now.”
It’s not particularly long, but it is detailed. Sections on our roles within the Costa family, as members of The Syndicate, as voting parties on the council. She adds a few notes here and there, and when I try to look over her shoulder, she hissesno peeking.
I resign myself to listening to her flip the pages, scratch her notes, hum to herself. That is, until she hits the timeline section.
“Moving in next week? Seems a little fast, doesn’t it?” she grumbles, scratching out the clause in bright green ink.
“We’ve been dating for six months already, remember?” I argue, but she just rolls her eyes at me.
“And that’s supposed to be long enough? I can’t imagineliving with someone before we’ve been dating for at least a year.” Her eyes continue scrolling down the page. “Though you’ve got us married by that time.”
I can’t help the laugh that slips from me at her tone.
“While I appreciate the societal norms here, I do also have a schedule to keep.” She bites the inside of her lip. “Tradition holds that I can’t take my role officially until I’m legally married, and while I’m willing to wait some time for Ana’s sake, my family also needs me.”
I think of my mother, unable to speak to us, fighting every day to heal when the nature of her injuries begs her to succumb. Of my father, looking at her like he nearly lost his sun.
“You’re right,” she whispers, resting her shoulder against mine. “I can agree to engagement within six months if we can push back the move-in to six weeks, just to give Ana time to adjust.”
We negotiate back and forth a bit more. She’s quick to agree to quit her job, but would like to become more involved in the Costa family work once Ana is back in school. There’s a lot more to that conversation, especially considering the way the memory of her killing has me playing out some elaborate fantasies in my mind, so we table it for the time being.
She asks a little about what her friends—mostly Kenzie—are allowed to know, about how much people like Sammy and Catalina are aware of. She pushes back on Ana being given a trust. When she flips the page to the last one, her hand stills.
“This is something we can discuss in the future, if you’d like,” I say, trying to gauge her level of discomfort or possibly panic.
Bold of me to just throw the headingoffspringonto the last page and leave only a tab with a question mark, but I had no idea how else to address the subject.